Where You Stay, I Will Stay
by bemusedbicycle
Summary: A series of unrelated Captain Swan one-shots inspired by prompts submitted on Tumblr. May or may not include an experience with Hook and the Home Shopping Network.
1. Chapter 1

**Anon Prompt- Hook and the Home Shopping Channel.**

**(I was laughing like a psycho the entire time I wrote this. Thank you, thank you, thank you Anon for the most perfect prompt.)**

When she slips into the loft well past midnight, she fully expects a dark and quiet apartment.

She does not expect a pirate sitting on her couch, fully engrossed in the Home Shopping Network.

She freezes in the hallway, mouth agape as she stares at Hook and Henry together on the couch. Her eyes flicker to the clock on the wall as she registers its one in the morning and then back to the odd pair huddled together. The excited voices of cheesy salespeople drift from the television and Hook shifts eagerly from the back of the couch, leaning forward and jostling a bleary looking Henry in the process.

"But wait, there's more." Henry mutters sleepily from his place against Hook's side. Hook laughs somewhat maniacally from his perch on the edge of the sofa, fingers gripping the telephone with a possessive zeal.

"Ah yes, m'boy." His blue eyes squint in concentration while his hook scratches idly at the back of his head. "There's always more."

Henry snickers from beneath the blankets next to him, eyes barely visible. He looks so happy and comfortable, fleece blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, head resting against Hook's shoulder. Hook absentmindedly taps Henry's head with the curve of his hook in affection and Emma feels something in her chest shift at the gentle motion.

But then Hook palms her credit card off the table and all warmth disappears.

"Are you using my credit card?" She struggles not to shout and wake up David and Mary Margaret but the rage simmering through her veins is apocalyptic. Henry has the intelligence to sink lower in his blanket bundle, eyes downcast. Hook however, pays her no mind as he carefully balances the phone on his lap and punches in the correct numbers.

He pulls the phone up and balances it between his ear and shoulder, eyes never leaving the screen. "Good evening my dear Tricia, I do believe I'll be placing another order."

Emma stalks forward and rips the phone from his ear, hastily hitting the end button and tossing the phone into an armchair. He looks up at her with wide eyes, apparently startled by her sudden appearance. He blinks several times and then a slow grin appears on his face.

She feels her heart speed up and she wants to stomp her foot in childish defiance.

_Bastard._

"That was very rude to Tricia."

He casually leans back against the couch and Henry readjusts himself, snuggling further into his side. Emma rolls her eyes and leans forward, snatching her credit card from his fingers.

"I don't give a damn about Tricia." She mutters insolently and Hook's eyebrows shoot up, laughter dancing in his eyes. He gestures towards the television with the arm that isn't tucked against Henry.

"Swan, are you aware that your moving pictures box allows you to buy things? Right from the comfort of your own home?"

He looks so genuinely pleased with himself, that she almost feels bad about her level of rage. Almost.

"Are you aware that stealing a credit card is a felony?" Was it? Probably, somewhere. Whatever, she's sheriff here. She places her hands on her hips and does her best to shoot him with a withering glare. "And that I could lock you up?"

He smirks at her. "Oh, love. It isn't nice to tease."

He gives her a downright sinful wink and does something absolutely _terrible_ with his tongue and his lips and his mouth and she feels her mouth gaping open in response as she follows the movement with her eyes.

He laughs.

She growls, reaching forward and hauling him bodily off the sofa. Henry gives a small shriek as he falls against the arm of the couch without Hook supporting him, but she pays him no mind. He's a part of this too.

She pulls him down the hall, infuriatingly chuckling the entire way, and shoves him out the door. Once he's in the hallway outside of the apartment, he turns, jutting out his bottom lip and fixing her with a pleading look.

"But, Swan-"

"Not happening." She slams the door shut in his face and puts the chain on for good measure. She pretends not to hear his loud laugh from the other side of the wood and instead turns and stalks back down the hallway. Henry is bundled up on the couch, just his eyes and a mop of messy brown hair visible. They stare at each other in silence and then he shrugs.

"What? There were some good deals."

-/-

She is sitting in a corner booth at Granny's nursing a cup of coffee (extra whipped cream, extra cinnamon) when she _feels_ him slide into the booth across from her. She flips the front page of the _Storybrooke Mirror_ and hums quietly to herself, perfectly content with ignoring him.

He has other ideas.

"Swan." She glances up at him and he is watching her carefully, blue eyes serious.

She folds her hands on the paper. "Hook."

His fingers drum on the table between them. "Has my sham-pow arrived yet?"

"Sham-" Her eyebrows knit in confusion as he gazes at her with the utmost seriousness. She almost chokes on her coffee when she realizes what he is talking about.

300-year-old pirate ordered a damn ShamWow.

"No it has not arrived yet, and you owe me 623 dollars, buddy." She aims a finger at his chest menacingly. How the hell did he even _spend_ 623 dollars? "And don't even try paying me in doubloons."

She doesn't know how he shifts over to her side of the booth so fast, but his breath is warm on her neck when he leans in against her ear.

"Don't worry darling, I fully intend to pay my debts."

He's gone before she can slap him.

-/-

The packages arrive in a steady stream over the course of a wekk. She huffs angrily and kicks the one closest to the door as she struggles to pick them all up and haul them into the loft. She drops them on the couch and stares at them for a moment before picking up the smallest one off the top. She tears the box open and peers inside.

"You have got to be kidding me."

It's a frilly, red, mostly sheer lingerie set. That he bought. From the Home Shopping Network. Next to her _son_.

She fumes and fingers the soft fabric idly, tilting her head to the side. She lets a slow smile stretch her features.

Paybacks a bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

**I Want You To Stay**

**Anon prompt - Hook accidentally hurts Emma with his hook and decides to use the fake hand. Emma then tries to convince him to put the hook back.**

**This is not at all what you asked for other than Hook accidentally hurts Emma and she tries to convince him of something. But I hope you like it just the same! Little smut, little fluff, little angst. My favorite three!**

Killian is an active sleeper. She supposes it has something to do with the three-hundred plus years he's lived, but still - it takes her by surprise.

The first night they spend together, well the first full night she invites him to _stay, just stay with me_, she wakes up to a half empty bed. At first her stomach drops and she thinks _of course, _but then she hears a crash from the kitchen and she's sliding out of bed, bare feet padding across the cold floor.

He's standing at the breakfast bar, clad only in the blue pajama pants she filched from David's laundry pile. His hair is mussed and his back is to her, the moonlight lighting up his skin and making the myriad of scars that cross over one another stand out. The small ceramic bowl that holds all of their car keys is shattered on the ground by his feet, but he pays it no mind.

"Killian?" She walks towards him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. She gently touches his shoulder and his whole body jumps.

She turns his body towards her and he blinks owlishly, one eyebrow raising as both their gazes dart down to his hand where he is holding a slice of the pumpkin pie Mary Margaret made for dessert.

"What-" He begins and his voice is rough with sleep, blue eyes clouded in confusion. He scratches at the back of his crazy bed-mussed hair with his brace and she chuckles.

"You never told me you're a sleepwalker."

The look he gives her breaks her heart because it's clear he has no idea he sleepwalks at all. She sometimes forgets he's been alone even longer than she has and she reaches for his hand, removing the pie and twisting her fingers with his.

"Come on." She kisses the hollow of his throat when he takes a step towards her. "Let's go back to bed."

The second time it happens, its a couple weeks later in the early hours of the morning. She feels searing heat against her stomach, the cool metal of his rings a sharp contrast as he traces idle patterns into her skin. She blinks her eyes open just as his fingers dip lower, sliding under the waist band of her pajama pants without hesitation. She gasps as his fingers lightly dance over her sensitive skin, knees spreading and shifting to accommodate his hand.

His hand twists and he slides a finger into her easily, pumping slowly before adding another. She moans as his hand works her over, his movements slow and lazy. The palm of his hand grinds against her clit while his teeth nip at her neck and she can feel the pressure building in her stomach. He removes his hand suddenly, pulling her shoulder and flipping her onto her back.

He slips over her and rests between her open legs, mouth immediately going to her covered breast. She groans and twists her fingers through his dark hair as he bites down, shock waves reverberating through her body and centering between her legs.

"Killian." She moans as his hips grind down against hers and his whole body freezes, mouth still slanted against her chest. Her eyes snap open and she blinks rapidly, trying to clear the lust induced fog from her brain. He pulls back and _god damn it_ she recognizes the look on his face.

"Are you kidding me?" She wheezes out. He blinks a couple times in bewilderment and then he's giving her a cheeky grin.

"Well love, now that we're awake." And she doesn't have the heart to be mad because he's sliding down her body, his stubble scratching at the skin of her stomach and _oh he definitely isn't sleeping anymore-_

But it's not always a yearning for an extra helping of dessert or lust that causes him to move in the night. Sometimes it's much worse.

Emma curls up in the arm chair by the window, watching as the storm rages outside. Lightning briefly illuminates the room and she tilts her head, smiling softly to herself as she watches Killian toss and turn under the blankets. His hand reaches out to her side of the bed and a frown knots his forehead when he can't find her.

She smiles to herself in the darkness and puts her mug of tea on the nightstand, sliding back into the bed. He hums and pulls her close, her face tucked into his neck, and she is asleep within moments.

"Emma!" His anguished shout startles her awake and she shoots up in the bed, mind hazy and heart pounding. She switches on the small light that sits on her nightstand, eyes scanning the dark bedroom, but it's just them.

Killian is curled in on himself on the far edge of the bed, hand clutching his hair so forcefully that his knuckles are turning white under the strain.

"Emma, please." His voice is so anguished and broken that she reaches for him out of instinct, his body trembling underneath her hands. She leans close to him, her front pressed against his back, and tries to bring him back.

"Killian, it's just a-" But she doesn't get to finish her sentence because he's moved suddenly, pushing back against her and flipping so that she is trapped beneath him. She gasps as his fingers close around her throat, eyes going wide. Luckily, his eyes snap open just as his fingers tighten and for a moment he is every inch _Captain Hook_- blue eyes on fire with anger, poised and ready to kill.

But when her terrified eyes meet his, he melts back into Killian and surges off of her. She follows, sitting up slowly so that her back is resting against the headboard.

"Gods, Emma, I'm so sorry." He isn't looking at her, instead choosing to stare at the wall above the bed. His mouth opens and closes a couple times before his gaze finally meets hers and she balks when she sees the torment there.

"I should go." He says and before she can respond, he is off the bed and pulling on his jeans. His movements are tight and a little bit frantic and she stares at him wordlessly as he shrugs his black v-neck over his shoulders. His hand is on the knob of her door when she decides to speak, voice shaking in the darkness of the room. The storm has long since passed, leaving nothing but silence.

"You're just going to leave?"

She wants to wince because her voice sounds so small but she knows he's more scared than she is in this moment and maybe a little vulnerability on her end might help. He pauses and she hears a dull thud as his head rests against the wood of her bedroom door.

"I hurt you." He whispers and she shimmies down the bed so that her bare legs are hanging off the edge.

"You did not." She replies, just as quietly, waiting at her place on the bed. He turns his head, but not his body, looking at her from the corner of his eye, his profile shrouded in darkness.

"I'm a broken man, Emma." And she wants to cry because it's like looking in a mirror.

"Maybe." Her voice is soft and she watches as his shoulders fall. She won't lie to him and tell him he's not – that's not what he needs her for. She tilts her head to the side and watches the tension in his back with sad eyes. "But I'm broken too."

The silence is deafening, but he still hasn't left, and that's something.

She twists her fingers in her lap, making sure to keep her eyes on him.

"You make me feel less broken." It's hardly a whisper, but he hears. He always hears. She hasn't told him she loves him, she can't just yet, probably won't be able to for a while. She hasn't told him how happy he makes her - how it feels to wake in his arms. Hasn't told him what it means to her to have him _here_, with her, all of the time.

But she can give him this.

His entire body relaxes as he fully turns to her, blue eyes sad and dark and wide. She extends her arm, palm up.

"Come back to bed."

His hand is warm when it slides against hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Based off the promo picture of Hook. **

He shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the scene in front of him, unsure of his place in all of the excitement. It's been a long time since a town has welcomed the Jolly Roger into port. He's reminded of crisp uniforms and billowing flags, marching bands and dancing children, proud blue eyes and a hand on his shoulder – that alone is almost enough to make him climb right back onto the ship, find the first rum bottle he can get his hand on and drink until everything's dark.

He's not used to being welcome.

Some of the townspeople eye him warily and he averts his gaze, taking a step back out of habit, scratching at his neck is discomfort. He doesn't like this, doesn't like it at all, doesn't know what to bloody do –

Her laugh is loud and bright and his eyes snap to her golden curls, shimmering in the sunlight and cascading over her shoulders. She has her arms wrapped around Henry and the lad looks just as overwhelmed and uncomfortable as he feels. Strange that, he thinks idly, but then Emma smiles and all thought ebbs and flows from his mind like the tide returning to sea.

Her eyes meet his over the crowd, locking on him with startling clarity. She blinks, and then a soft smile twists her lips and he feels another piece of his heart click back into place. Its silly really, like a sodding schoolboy, the way she affects him so - the way she pieces him back together with tender touches and careful smiles, not even realizing how she's taken a broken man and turned him into something else entirely.

She tilts her chin up and angles her head back, beckoning him over to the rest of them, soft smile widening into a grin. Her eyes crinkle and he's helpless under her watchful stare, taking a step closer to her a siren's song before he even realizes.

He's not used to being welcome, but maybe he could be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Anon prompt- Everyone tries to convince Emma that true love's kiss with Neal will protect the town against the curse. Captain Swan if you please!**

**Took some liberties with the plot! Hope no one minds!**

His lips close over hers abruptly and her eyes widen in surprise before slamming shut in a grimace. Her heart beats furiously in her chest and her hands are shaking because everyone is watching, _everyone_, and she doesn't want this, not one bit.

His lips are rough against hers, just like she remembers, but she feels nothing.

Nothing.

Her hands find purchase on his shoulders and she pushes roughly, Neil stumbling backwards. His eyes are wide and surprised and a little hurt, but she can't bring herself to care. The back of her hand trembles as she presses it to her lips and this isn't right, _it isn't right at all_, and everyone is staring.

"I can't." She curses herself when it comes out high-pitched and breathy, panic tightening her throat. "I can't."

"Emma, it's okay, you can-" Mary Margaret's hopeful smile drops when Emma shakes her head abruptly. She winces when she feels moisture on her cheeks and she steps back when Mary Margaret takes a step forward.

She can feel them all looking at her, watching her carefully - their precious savior crumbling in the street. The heels of her hands dig into her eyes and she scrubs roughly.

"No." Her body is shaking, but her decision is steely and solid. Finally, _finally_, they listen, blissful silence washing over their small group.

She turns and walks away, ignoring the shouts of her name, instead focusing on the steady pounding of her feet on the pavement. Memories flash through her mind like a slideshow she just can't turn off, broken promises and a lost life falling through her fingers like quicksand. Her breath comes in shorts pants and it just _hurts_, pain slicing through her in strong lashes.

She walks faster, breathes harder.

She turns down a side street and keeps walking until she meets the woods, her feet slipping against the wet leaves. She hears movement behind her and moves faster, using the tree trunks to propel her deeper into the darkness.

"Emma!" She stops abruptly when she hears his lilting voice, breath coming out in little white clouds. She watches as it fades away in front of her.

"Why did you follow me?" She whispers and she hates that she sounds so broken. He stills behind her, and she can just make out the end of his coat from the corner of her eye.

"Haven't you heard? There's a curse coming." She can _hear_ his grin and her shoulders relax. Her head tilts to the side as he steps around her, leaning casually against a tree.

He looks so tired - deep, dark circles under his eyes. His hand twitches at his side and he hesitates, but then sighs heavily, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the familiar flask. He pops the top with his teeth and takes a step closer to her, holding it out to her. Her lips twitch and she takes it, taking a swig and letting the burn coat her throat.

She closes her eyes tight and takes another sip before handing it back, his fingers brushing against hers. When she opens her eyes again, he's taking his own pull, blue eyes fixed on hers.

Her mouth opens before she can think about it, the magnetism between them calling to her.

"I knew it wouldn't work."

He looks surprised, eyebrow shooting up, but he doesn't say anything, merely gestures for her to continue.

She frowns and gestures for the flask again, he passes it to her with a smirk and she realizes in that moment just how much she's missed this exchange. They've only been back in Storybrooke for a couple days, but it seems like a lifetime since she's been this close to him.

"I don't-" Another pause, another sigh, and its mildly ridiculous that she's having this conversation over a flask of rum in the middle of the woods while a curse hurdles full tilt towards the town. "I'm not the same person I was, before."

He nods, eyes dropping down to their feet. "Aye, but that doesn't mean feelings have to change."

She groans. "Not you, too."

He blinks back up at her, blue eyes sad and she knows what he's doing. Hot anger flares in her stomach and her eyes narrow into slits. Her hands clench at her sides. "What happened to 'When I win your heart'? What are you doing?"

He shifts from foot to foot, takes another swig from his flask. "I'm trying to be an honorable man." She can hear his own anger there, the resentment and self-disgust. "I'm trying to not break up _another_ bloody family."

She takes a step forward, pokes him hard in the chest, swipes the flask out of his hand. He looks at her incredulously and she revels in the fact that she's taken him by surprise. "How about you let me make my own decisions?"

He grabs his flask back and throws it to the side. It smacks into a tree trunk with a dull thud and then he's standing over her. Spice and sea wrap around her and she makes to take a step back, but his hook finds her belt loop, keeping her where she is.

"And what is your choice, Emma?"

His blue eyes are piercing, open and honest and vulnerable. She watches as a thousand emotions pass behind them and then he blinks, walls coming down hard as he takes a step back. He looks down and to the side, face crumbling in pain and she really can't do this anymore.

One hand finds the back of his neck and the other fists in his shirt and she's hauling him into her. He exhales a shaky breath against her chin and then her lips are on his, teeth clashing together with the force of it. Warmth explodes in her chest and she gasps at the intensity of it, stumbling backwards. But he follows her, _always follows her_, hand pulling her hips into his, keeping her steady.

His lips chase hers, soft and warm and tasting of rum, and his hand flexes on the bare skin of her hip. She doesn't know when his hand slipped under her sweater but she doesn't care, because the warmth is electric, hot and addicting. A small groan leaves the back of his throat as she tilts her head and slides her hand into his hair, fingers twisting between the black strands.

And this curse must be a fucking joke because there's no way she can ever forget this.

She pulls back and pants against him. The warmth is spiraling, making her light-headed. She gasps as it rises in her and she hears him mutter a muffled curse against her jaw.

"Emma." It's a whisper, an adulation, a promise. She opens her eyes and his are startling blue. He grins so hard his walls shatter and break in front of her and the warmth pulsates, pushing around them.

An eyebrow quirks.

"I think it worked, lass."


	5. Chapter 5

**If Hook was in the Hunger Games the jabberjays would make the sound of Emma's scream.**

The jungle is quiet, eerily so, as he collects water from the river. His eyes glance about the tree line and he feels a cold apprehension prick at his neck.

Something isn't right.

When he hears her scream, his blood runs cold.

It only takes a moment for him to recognize her pained shout, but when he does, he's tearing through the woods back to camp.

A million images run through his mind – Emma hurt, Emma bleeding, Emma crying and needing him –

Emma. Emma. _Emma_.

Another scream echoes through the woods, seemingly coming from behind him. He pauses, heart beating an unsteady staccato against his ribcage and turns his head, searching desperately with his eyes.

"Hook!" Emma shouts his name. "Help me, please!"

He takes off towards the sound of her voice, wincing when another scream pierces the air. He stumbles as he runs, the screams coming faster, louder, overlapping in his mind. He wants to stop, to fall, cover his ears and wish this away.

He wants to get to her, find her, help her, rescue her.

It's too much, it tears at him as he runs - her screams pulling at him and breaking him apart. Her voice echoes his name on a sob and he stumbles, falling hard against a tree.

He pants and then there's silence, so loud it's deafening. He blinks at the woods around him, and sees the telltale marks of the edge of their camp.

He crashes back into the camp like a bloody animal, chest heaving, eyes wild. His gaze lands on her, sitting cross-legged by the fire, head ducked in concentration. He breathes in and out, watches her do the same. He lets his eyes scan her slowly, looking for any signs of distress.

Realization hits him hard but does nothing to slow his pulse.

Bloody jungle and its bloody mind tricks.

_Bloody Fucking Pan_.

He curses.

She looks up and meets his wide eyes, visibly starting at the obviously frantic look on his face. "Hook, are you alright?"

He steps closer to her, eyes still moving over her, never staying in one spot for too long. He watches as she nervously tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on her neck.

"Hook?" He jumps when he hears _HOOK!_ echo in his mind, her voice alight with pain. He shakes his head and takes a step closer to where she sits.

"Emma, please." He doesn't care that his voice is broken, beyond the point of exhaustion. Her pained screams echo on loop in his mind, conjuring up images and making him think terrible things. He looks at her with tired eyes and gestures uselessly with his hook.

"This isn't some sort of manipulation, I assure you. I merely need-" He closes his eyes and shakes his head hard, willing the anguished screams to disappear. He sighs heavily and scrubs his hand against his eyes, pressing so hard that black spots morph and shape behind his eyelids.

"Hook?"

He opens his eyes and she's staring at him, concern etched on her brow.

"I just need to sit here for a tic. If that's quite alright with you." She nods her acquiescence, slow and confused, and he carefully sits down next to her. Her screams still haunts his mind but it's easier, with her sitting right next to him, to assure himself that she's alright.

He wants to hold her in his arms, run his hand over her skin, feel her heart beating strong in her chest. But he settles for silently counting her breaths as she sits beside him.

And if he stares a little too hard (like he knows he is), she doesn't say anything about it. And if she scoots a little closer, her warm skin brushing against his own, he doesn't say anything either.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hook has a nightmare about Emma getting her heart ripped out and has to assure himself she is alright. **

She curses as she crosses the empty and quiet loft, thankful that Henry is staying with Regina tonight and David and Mary Margaret moved out months ago, because whoever is pounding at her door with manic insistence is making a hell of a lot more noise than necessary at three in the morning.

"What the hell is-"

She freezes when she sees Hook standing in her doorway, hooked hand braced against her doorframe. He looks sleep rumpled, dark hair sticking up in every which direction, jeans obviously pulled on in haste. He had decided recently that he should probably retire the leather and adapt to this world's clothing customs, albeit reluctantly and with no lack of whining on his part.

But his face is what causes her words to die in her throat, fear prickling at her neck and washing over her in a cold sweat. His blue eyes are locked on her, drinking her in with a startling intensity. He doesn't meet her gaze; instead his eyes sweep over her repeatedly, almost as if he is assessing her for injury. His eyes zero in on her chest and he heaves a deep and shuddering breath.

Her heart beats faster. "Are you alright?"

He jumps at her voice and blinks wildly, eyes finally meeting hers. The pain in his gaze is overwhelming, his soul cracking and shattering in front of her. His mouth opens and closes and she frowns.

"I, uh, I had-" He stutters and shuffles in her doorway and she reaches forward and clasps her hand around his wrist, pulling him into her apartment. He follows easily, standing in the loft with hunched shoulders, hand scratching at the back of his neck absently. His eyes flicker back up to hers briefly before they fix back on her chest.

"I had a dream you were hurt." He mutters with a deep frown and it's easy to see how uncomfortable he is with this. He shuffles his feet again. "Gold took your heart, crushed it in front of me and I-"

He swallows hard and takes a step closer to her, the smell of leather still clinging to him regardless of the fact that he abandoned his old clothing. He sighs and gestures to nothing in particular with his hook. "I know it was just a dream, but I needed to assure myself."

She stares at him silently as he avoids her gaze, looking every bit the lost boy she all too often forgets he is. She forgets he's been hurt just as much as she has, and been alone far longer. A lump rises in her throat as she reaches for his hand with shaky fingers, her fingertips brushing against the back of his knuckles as she grasps it in hers.

She takes a step closer to him as she lifts his hand to her chest, pressing his hand flat over her heart. His hand is cool and her heart pounds faster at the broken gasp that leaves his throat. His fingers flex on her chest and she slides her hand down his forearm, letting her palm rest against the crook of his elbow.

"Emma." He closes the already small distance between them and brings his hook to rest against her opposite hip, tugging her closer. He ducks his forehead against hers and his eyes slam shut. "I can't lose you, too."

Her fingers comb through his hair and tangle at the nape of his neck and she presses a careful kiss to his chin.

"I'm not going anywhere." She mutters and his chest heaves and shudders as his fingers press tight against her skin.

"You don't know that, anything could-"

"My heart can't be taken." She interrupts him and he stills against her. Her hand squeezes his arm and she sighs softly. "Part of being the product of true love, I suppose. My heart cannot be taken."

A soft whine leaves his throat and his hand shakes as it presses against her.

"Come with me." She whispers and she leads them back to her bedroom, his hand loosely tangled with hers. He stands awkwardly in her door, unsure of himself and his place as she digs around in one of her dresser drawers. She removes a pair of black drawstring pants and walks back to him, placing them in his hands.

"What is this?" He blinks down at the pajama pants with utter confusion and she fights not to blush. They haven't done this before, him staying over. It was still too soon and it was still too much for her to have someone share her bed. But the last time he had been here - after they were sated and sweaty and twisted in her sheets – she had wanted him to stay. She had wanted to wake up in his arms and cling to him in her sleep.

So she bought him pants.

"They're pajama pants."

His eyebrows furrow on his forehead and she watches as something dark shadows his face. His frown deepens and his lips twitch, eyes fixed intently on the pants.

"Whose pants, love?"

Understanding washes over her and she slides her hand against his neck, still unused to such casual, intimate touches, but thinking she could be if it makes his eyes look like that. Her thumb swipes a gentle pattern against his jaw and she sighs.

"Yours, I bought them for you." He blinks and her heart turns over in her chest at the look of utter surprise etched on his face. Her hands fall to his belt and she undoes it, fingers releasing his button with practiced ease.

"Let's go to bed." She whispers.

He lets her remove his jeans and steps into the black pajama pants carefully. She slips back into her sheets as he removes his t-shirt, his body warm as he climbs in next to her. She sighs when he pulls her in close, fingers inching up her tank top and resting against skin.

"Emma." He whispers and she hushes him, smoothing her fingers against the bare skin of his chest. She ducks her head down and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"I know." She responds and his grip tightens on her. She falls asleep easily to the rhythmic breathing of the pirate next to her.


	7. Chapter 7

**"Could you write an Avengers AU? Like Killian/Emma are SHIELD agents or something?"**

She yawns wide as she slips out of her apartment and shuffles over to his door, keying in the passcode with practiced ease. She curses when she immediately trips over his discarded boots, glaring towards the bedroom. She grumbles as she walks over to the closed door, practically throwing it open in hostility.

"You've got to stop leaving your shit all over the floor." She mutters as she steps over a pair of crumpled pants and _another_ pair of shoes. How he manages to have so many pairs of the same black tactical boots she will never understand. He's sitting up in bed, sheets pooled around his hips, running both hands through his hair methodically. He looks up and gives her a half-hearted grin, but the lines around his eyes are tense and it doesn't work at all.

"You're a spy, love. I'm sure your reflexes can handle it."

She frowns at the scratchiness in his voice and the large white bandage over his left shoulder. She nods at it as she climbs on the bed.

"Looks like you had fun in Bosnia." He looks down at the bandage on his shoulder and pokes at it with his finger, shifting over without looking to make space for her. He looks back over to her as she gingerly moves beneath the blankets, careful not to put too much stress on her left side. He arches one dark eyebrow.

"Clearly no more fun than Tallahassee."

She scowls as she reclines fully on the bed, pulling the blankets over her shoulders and turning on her uninjured side. "I fucking hate Tallahassee."

He chuckles and slides down next to her, reaching out and turning off the small lamp that sits on his nightstand. It takes a moment for her sight to adjust to the darkness, her eyes finding the strong line of his jaw as he lays on his back, hands still running a methodical circuit through his hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He doesn't pause in his movements, his answer immediate. "Not a tick, love."

She huffs next to him, eyes narrowing into slits, annoyed at his quick dismissal.

Killian suffers from terrible nightmares. When they were first partnered together, five years ago, they were worse, occurring almost nightly. They had slowed when they apprehended Gold in Helsinki - almost ceased completely after she drove a knife through the man's spine and they watched the life drain from his eyes together.

She didn't start helping him through it until a year into their partnership. It had happened on accident at first. She had just moved into the quarters next to his (they found it easier to respond to emergency calls if they were next door to each other, and maybe they liked each other's company a bit too) when she heard his panicked shout through the wall. She had barreled into his apartment, gun drawn and he had practically slit her throat before he came out of his dream haze and realized it was her.

So now she calls first.

Somehow it morphed into her sleeping next to him. He had admitted, begrudgingly, in an odd moment of genuine sincerity, that having her close by made it better.

It was the first time anyone had trusted her.

So she stayed. And he slept. And they got through it together.

He chuckles lowly at her annoyed huff and she tries to fight her answering grin. He turns on his side, mirroring her pose, blue eyes impossibly bright in the darkness of the room. The bed shifts and dips as he does and her entire body goes still when his fingertips graze her elbow.

No.

_No._

She gasps as her mind reacts violently to the casual touch - flashes of a red room and blinding lights and white-hot pain rocketing through her mind. She slams her eyes shut and reels backwards, moving away from his touch.

"Fuck Swan, I'm sorry."

His voice is a muted mutter as she breathes in and out, focusing on slowing the erratic thrum of her heart. The images flicker and slow in her mind, soon leaving nothing but a hollow ache in their place. She slides her eyes open and looks at him sharply.

"You can't just-" Her voice is high-pitched and breathy and she hates it, hates what Cora and the others did to her. They ruined her, made it impossible for anyone to touch her without the memories flooding in and pulling her under. "You can't just touch me, Jones."

He sighs and sits up slightly, arm bracing the upper half of his body. She watches his hands with open suspicion.

"I'm sorry. I thought it would be different."

"Different how?" She snaps and she knows she's overreacting but her heart is pounding in her chest and her body feels like it's being stretched far too thin and _god damnit, _that was so _stupid_ of him to try.

"We touch in the field." He supplies quietly and she brings a hand to her forehead, body jumping slightly when a particularly violent memory flashes behind her eyelids like a god damned horror movie.

"That's different, that's work." She drops her hand to the bedspread and shivers, rolling back to her side to face him. He eyes her carefully and she forces a small smile to get him to lie back down. He does, keeping a solid foot of bed between them. "When we touch in the field, it's to finish a job. Cora taught us anything casual was a form of weakness, and she punctuated it with her own form of training. You've read my file, you _know_ this."

His face looks impossibly sad. "Aye, that I do. I apologize, lass."

They regard each other quietly and she watches as a strange look passes over his face. His eyes dance along her face and body, gaze jumping every few seconds, almost as if he's trying to memorize her. Her stomach drops and she suddenly feels so _stupid_.

"What was your dream about?" She whispers.

His eyes snap back to hers and she knows. She _knows_.

He wars with himself for a moment and then his face crumbles and falls. "What they all seem to be about lately – losing you."

The silence is deafening between them as he holds her gaze. She stares at him hard, but there's nothing but honesty there and she makes her decision easily enough.

If he can be brave, she can be brave. Everything else was different with him, why couldn't this be too?

She untucks a hand from beneath the blankets and reaches out carefully. She's irritated with herself when she sees it's shaking, but there's nothing that can be done about that. It's been so long, longer than she can remember. She doesn't know if she still remembers how.

"What are you doing?" His eyes are locked on her fingers inching across the mattress.

"Shut up." She responds, trying to focus on _not_ freaking out.

"Swan, I don't-"

"Will it help?" She freezes the movement of her hand and looks up at him. She takes his silence as an assurance that _yes, it will most decidedly help_ and carefully places her palm against his chest. They gasp in unison and her eyes screw shut as a barrage of images wash over her. But they dissipate quickly and she exhales heavily, eyes finding his in the quiet of the room.

Of course he was right. The fucker.

But he's looking at her like she might vomit or explode or punch him in the throat at any second so she takes a deep breath and lets her shoulders relax.

"It's alright. I'm alright. You can try and uh," She swallows hard, a horrifically embarrassing blush working across her cheekbones. "You can try and touch me. If you want."

They watch together as he slowly brings his hand up and lets his fingertips brush her forearm. She winces when the flashbacks start and he makes to pull away but she holds him where he is with her free hand.

"No, wait." He's tense beneath her but his skin is warm and her body seems to recognize the familiarity, overriding the pain in her head. She relaxes when the images fade away. "Okay."

His palm presses more firmly against her arm and slides along her skin, overlapping the hand on his chest. His eyes dart to hers and he quirks an eyebrow in silent question. She nods, biting her lip, the memories of the red room nothing but a muffled whisper in the back of her mind.

His fingers twist with hers and he sighs heavily, finally relaxing. She squeezes his hand in response and he hums quietly, a small smile curving his lips.

It's the last thing she sees before sleep finally claims them both.


	8. Chapter 8

He's terrified he'll forget.

The way her eyes flare and flame when she is furious. The grip of her hand on his coat, tight and commanding. The soft flow of her too-blonde hair, long and glorious as it falls down her back. The gentle curve of her cheek when she smiles that timid and careful smile just for him, like she's about to shatter and break into a thousand glittering pieces.

He doesn't know how this curse works, doesn't know what sort of fail safes and fine print Regina put into the purple mist that came like a nightmare and deposited them back into their own land without so much as a cursory glance. He doesn't know if he'll wake up tomorrow and know nothing of the blonde-haired, green-eyed woman that swallowed him up and spit him out a saved man.

Which leads him to the familiar bar where he first found the man who put ink into his skin. He's draped casually in a chair, handless arm bared, the portly fellow bent over it in eager concentration. It doesn't pinch as much as the first, the scarred skin and broken nerves masking the pain. The rum certainly doesn't hurt either.

The tattoo becomes infected. He scoffs at the irony and lets the humor of it twist his lips into a painful smirk. Of course. Bloody Swan girl getting under his skin in every way imaginable. Quite literally.

He thinks of what her reaction would be to seeing it. Imagines it as he lays awake at night, his thumb rubbing a gentle circuit against the raised skin. She would be furious, he thinks, and that alone brings a grin to his face.

(He idly thinks he's losing his bloody mind, letting imaginary women make him feel things such as this.)

She would be furious, a frown tilting her lips downward, eyes as wild as the sea reflecting her sincere shock. She'd yell, probably spit some snarky remark his way. But then she would peek up at him from under her lashes and he'd be rewarded with the little flash he sometimes got. The little flash of hope and happiness and promise.

And that would be enough.

Sometimes he curses his memory for drawing her in such painstaking detail. But then he closes his eyes and sees her face and breathes in relief.

His thumb rubs over the inked reminder of her on his wrist as he stands outside the unfamiliar door in the city he hates with a fiery passion. His heart is beating a painful staccato against his chest and his hand shakes as he brings it up to rapt against the wood with far more bravado than he feels.

He's terrified he'll forget.

-/-

"What the hell is this?" She mutters and he relinquishes his arm to her fierce grip. Her nimble fingers push at the cuff of his black sleeve and dance over the thick bands of black ink – a graceful swan nestled amongst the scar tissue of his wrist.

Something beautiful amongst the darkness.

He watches her carefully, blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Smug satisfaction curls his lips upwards as he realizes just how _sorely_ lacking his imagination was in regards to the color of Emma Swan's blush.


	9. Chapter 9

**Prompt: Hook and Emma attend a carnival where Hook encounters fun house mirrors that distort his devilishly handsome features ;)**

"Ah, this is much better." He grins and _of course_.

They were at the Maine State Fair, located a half-hour drive outside of Storybrooke. Henry had been begging her to go for _weeks_ and she finally relented. Naturally Hook had been within earshot and happily invited himself along.

While she had been initially wary of bringing him around _people_, she soon calmed when she saw him react to the dancing lights and whirling mechanics of the fair. Him and Henry wore identical looks of euphoria and she may or may not have felt her stomach flip at the boyish grin stretched across his face.

Whatever.

She had a hard time keeping up with him and Henry as they flew around – playing the dart balloons (He won a ridiculously large teddy bear that he was now toting about like a proud peacock), riding the Merry-Go-Round ("What the bloody hell are these supposed to be? Horses?"), attacking innocent clowns who snuck up behind them with balloon animals ("But Swan, he was going for the boy. Really, there's nothing harmless about a man with that unnatural of a smile.").

She's really glad she made him take off the hook.

Henry tugs them both into the House of Mirrors and after the initial confusion of the Fun House mirrors that distort your appearance ("Gods! Do I actually look like this?"), they find themselves in the mirror maze.

Henry's disappeared around a corner and Hook advances on her, grin wide and predatory. She backs up into a mirror wall and she watches as thousands of him approach her from all angles. His hands land on her hips and he tugs her close.

"I must say, I like this mirror house." She watches in the mirror as his fingers dance down her arm and land squarely on her ass. She jumps when he squeezes and he chuckles. "I like it very much."

She attempts to push him away, but he just grips her tighter. "There are _children_ around, you moron."

But his eyes are busy watching their reflection and _of course_ he would be into this. Damn perpetually horny pirate.

His lips duck down close to her ear as his fake hand slides under her shirt, resting against the small of her back.

She doesn't shudder.

"You want me to stop, Emma?" He hums, scruff brushing against her cheek. Her eyes fall shut, and her hands close into fists against his chest, grabbing the material of his plaid shirt between her fingers.

He certainly couldn't wear the pirate suit in public. Although he had _tried_.

His breath comes out in a hot puff against her lips and she leans forward, already tasting spice and rum and _him_. His hand tightens on her hip and he makes a pleased sound low in his throat, the deep cadence rumbling across her and making her think of –

"Gross! Guys, we are in public!"

They spring apart like guilty teenagers to see Henry with his arms crossed in front of them. Emma attempts to stutter something out and Hook just laughs.

Jackass.

She punches him in the arm while Henry continues to shake his head in disappointment, but he just smiles at her, warm and open, and she really can't stay mad at him. Especially when he walks in front of her and his ass in those jeans is reflected thousands of times. She likes this mirror house, too.

And much later - after she drops Henry off at Regina's with that ridiculous bear - when he drags the free-standing mirror that sits in the corner of her room to the edge of her bed with a wicked smile, she tells herself that taking him to the fair was the _best_ idea she's ever had.


	10. Chapter 10

"Take off your shirt." She pants and he hastily obliges, lifting the bottom of his black tunic with his good hand. She hurries him along, impatient fingers grabbing at the hem and roughly yanking it over his head.

He collapses back onto her bed and she follows, hands searching along his skin.

"While I'm pleased you are practically ripping clothing off me in haste – I must say, this is not how I anticipated this going."

She nudges his arms up and he winces sharply at the movement. She winces along with him, fingers shaking over his torso.

Her eyes dart up to his. "Would it make you feel better if I thought the same?"

He starts to chuckle but it turns into a pained wheeze, good hand pressing over the large gash in his side. Her fingers are sticky with his blood and, Jesus fucking Christ – she really wants to drown that witch.

"Gods above, it must be bad if you're coming out with that little trinket."

She slaps his hand away and grimaces at the wound. It's ugly and jagged, but luckily for him - shallow. It only needs a couple stitches. They will have to wait and see if there's any sort of dark magic in it, but judging by the amount of blood seeping out of it and onto her very expensive_white_ bedspread, there probably is.

She presses along the edge of the wound and his whole body jumps. She mutters an apology and sighs heavily.

"I think that witch hit you with more than just a window pane."

He arches an eyebrow and she's mildly impressed that he still manages to be _him_ with massive blood loss. "Aye, if you recall, she also hit me with a rather large piece of countertop, a wayward chair, and what I believe you call a _waffle iron_ – dreadfully heavy piece of technology."

Her lips twist into an unhappy frown and it's his turn to sigh. "Apologies, lass. I'll behave."

She nods and makes to stand up to fetch some supplies from under the sink in the bathroom when his hand catches her arm.

"Where are you going?"

Her heart thumps a little bit harder at the look on his face – a look she is intimately familiar with – fear of abandonment. But as soon as it appears, its gone, and he lets his hand slide off her arm.

"I was going to get some stuff to stitch you up."

He tucks his good hand behind his head like he's lying on the beach instead of bleeding out on her bed sheets (white, goddamnit) and gestures airily with his hook.

"No need."

"What do you mean 'no need'? You're losing a lot of blood."

He blinks sleepily at her and the most peculiar grin overcomes his features. "You can fix it." He slurs and shit, maybe the magic is moving faster than she first thought.

She looks at him carefully and his hand comes up to cup her face. "Such a beautiful swan."

"Oh, Christ." She mutters and he giggles, actually giggles, beneath her.

"The name's Killian, love."

She rolls her eyes and tries to get up again but his grip is surprisingly strong for a delirious, centuries old pirate. His gaze is serious when she looks down at him and his thumb is rubbing a gently circuit on the inside of her wrist.

"Use your magic, it's stronger than hers."

The conviction is his voice is unwavering and when his fingers twist with hers, she doesn't pull away.

"How do you know?" She whispers.

He smiles, all teeth and pure belief.

"Because I do." He replies simply. He winces sharply and his eyes fall shut and she's just about to shake him roughly when he grunts and re-opens his eyes. They're a shade darker, his pupils large and dominating. "Now, I suggest you try sooner rather than later, love, as I am feeling positively dreadful. But move at your own pace, I'm just here for the drinks."

She can tell she's lost him to the delirium again because he's humming under his breath and his eyes are far away and his hand is swaying back and forth in the air to some unknown beat. He starts when his eyes land on hers and he grins.

"Emma! You look so beautiful for the ball."

Shit.

"Alright, Romeo. Let's give this a go."

He pouts as she raises her hands above his torso and the last thing she hears before rushing warmth and glow overcome all her senses is "Who the bloody hell is Romeo?"

She feels rushing heat start in her chest and explode through her fingertips and it's just like the protection spell, except _more_. She feels powerful and light and _wonderful _as she thinks of all the things that bring her joy. She thinks of Henry on a cold, crisp day in the park – laugh bright and tinkling in the autumn wind. David and Mary Margaret happily making breakfast in the kitchen – their movements sure and knowing and screaming of home and comfort. And she thinks of bright blue eyes in a dark green forest as heavily ringed fingers tap on ruby-red lips.

When she comes back to herself, she opens her eyes slowly to find Hook blissfully passed out on her now _ruined_ bedspread, snoring lightly. Her fingers dance over the wound and she sighs in relief when there isn't even so much as a scar.

And he's sleeping so when the urge to run her fingers through his hair becomes too strong, she let's herself give in – lips curving upward gently at the soft sigh that falls form his lips.


	11. Chapter 11

**Anon Prompt - Hook and Emma + Emma introducing him to the booze in our world.**

When she overhears him order a margarita at Granny's, her first reaction is a derisive snort. It's hard for her to imagine him sipping on a fruity concoction - black leather and little pink umbrella. She lets her mind drift to Hook on a beach for just a split second before her mind snaps back to reality and she stomps down on that train of thought – hard.

Happy, Doc, and Sneezy are situated at the far end of the lunch counter and they chuckle into their mugs. Tempted to laugh along with the dwarves, Emma lets her grin stretch her lips. But when Hook's shoulders tense fractionally and his foot taps out an uneven pattern against the floor, her humor is suddenly replaced with an odd sense of understanding.

She knows what it feels like to not belong – to not know _how _to fit in.

"A margarita?" Granny is no-nonsense, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. She doesn't take kindly to sarcastic requests and Emma watches as Hook ducks his head back down to the menu with uncertainty, scratching at the back of his head with his namesake.

She makes her decision easily enough.

"Make that two, please."

She slides onto the open stool next to Hook and fixes her gaze on Granny, choosing to pointedly ignore the pirate for the time being. She can feel him like a magnet next to her, blue eyes burning a hole into the side of her face – a stupidly attractive magnet, with an innate ability to read her like a goddamned book.

Shit, alcohol certainly isn't going to help matters there.

She sighs as Granny raises her eyebrows impossibly higher. "I don't even know if we have the stuff to make 'em."

It's clear the woman has no desire or intention to make two frozen cocktails. It's a small-town diner, not a horrific 80s movie.

Emma gives Granny her best understanding smile and she's pretty sure it comes out more like a grimace judging by the stone-faced response she gets. She slides off the stool and grabs Hook by the upper arm, pulling him with her. Her touch memory is instantly reminded of lush green forests, and too blue eyes, and meeting mouths, and _want_, and –

God, she is so screwed.

"Alright." She grimaces again when her voice comes out in a squeak and, Jesus, is the whole diner _staring _now? "Well, I bet the Rabbit Hole has a blender. We will be off then."

Unfortunately for her, she chooses that moment to look at Hook. He's smiling at her – open and honest and hopeful and she should really just pretend this never happened. Should have let him order the damned margarita and let him get laughed at and mocked by the townspeople. His ego could handle coming down a notch or two anyway.

"We?" He questions while taking a step towards her and Jesus Christ, how does he inflect one word with so much innuendo - probably something to do with the eyebrows. She watches as one thick brow arches, seemingly of its own mind, and yes – it is definitely the eyebrows.

She turns and practically sprints out of the diner and she mentally high-fives herself when she doesn't faceplant on the entry mat. She pulls her jacket tighter and turns, not waiting to see if he's following her or not.

"Love?" His breath puffs warm against the back of her neck and she quickens her strides, ignoring the goosebumps that rise all over her skin. It's just the cold. "I do believe the Rabbit Hole is in the opposite direction."

"Yep."

His large steps easily match her quick ones and she keeps her eyes focused on the slightly run-down sign on the corner. "May I ask where we are going then?"

She stops abruptly with a huff and turns to face him. He's surprised by the sudden movement and barely catches himself before he tumbles over in front of her. She suppresses a smirk and he rolls his eyes.

"You don't know what a margarita is."

He frowns and shuffles in front of her, back to uncertain. "I think that was fairly obvious."

Her gaze softens and she feels the familiar pang of understanding. She gestures towards the liquor store with a swing of her head.

"Then let your alcohol education begin."

One expensive and exhausting trip to the liquor store later (he is actually a 300-year-old toddler), and he is grumbling next to her as they walk laden with bags back to her apartment. A voice in the back of her head is carefully warning her that drinking copious amounts of liquor with Captain Hook while her son is at his adoptive mother's and her parents are at their new cottage is probably not the best of ideas, but she swipes it away in the name of education.

Someone should make him feel welcome.

As it turns out, he loves margaritas. She watches as he sips happily on his drink from across the kitchen island, blue eyes lit with surprise.

"Swan, this is delicious." He mutters and her life is beyond ridiculous right now. He quickly downs his (very full) glass and snatches hers, chugging away merrily. She protests weakly but then decides the less alcohol she has, the better.

"Where did you learn to make these?"

She eyes a bottle of rum and sets about mixing him a Cuba Lire. "I used to be a bartender."

It was a quick and easy way to make money – back when she had just gotten out of prison. No one cared if the bartender served time. He's quiet so she peeks up at him and he's looking at her with surprise.

"You were a bar maiden?"

She snorts and pours a liberal amount of rum into the cola, knowing for damn sure it needs to be strong to have any sort of effect on his constitution. "Yeah, I suppose you could say I was a_bar maiden_." She does a horrific impersonation of his accent and he chuckles across from her. When she hands him his next drink, he's smiling a secret smile like he's in on some big joke.

"What?"

He chuckles ruefully and takes a sip of his new drink, eyebrows shooting up in pleased surprise.

"It would seem I have a type, then." He takes another, much bigger gulp. "This is delightful, Swan. I am eternally impressed by your varied skill set."

She grins at him, a light blush rising to her cheeks despite herself. He tracks the color spreading her skin with interested eyes and she grabs the next nearest bottle.

"Wait until you try a Tequila Sunrise."

-/-

When Hook greets her at her bedroom door the next morning, looking for all the world bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she really tries not to hate him.

"Aren't you hungover?" She grumbles.

He snorts and hands her a cup of coffee as she tries to not let her eyes linger on his bare chest (she definitely gave him a shirt) or the way David's flannel pants sit low on his hips.

"I've been drinking many years, love."

She arches an eyebrow at him and he returns the gesture but it lacks its usual persuasiveness when his hair is so sleep-rumpled and wild. She takes a sip of her coffee and almost spits it back out.

"Wait, how did you know how to work the machine?"

And when he leans in close, nose skimming her neck, voice rough and low in her ear, she has to clench her fist so she doesn't punch him in the face – or grab him and mount him against the counter. Either or.

"Perhaps I'm just a quick learner."


	12. Chapter 12

**For Erin, and her plea for fanfiction to stop including "as you wish" in sexual scenes.**

**Smut ahead, folks. **

Emma sighs as his lips dance down her neck, fingers edging under his shirt and meeting the burning warmth of his skin. He shifts against her and she widens her legs, pulling him further into her body, knees cradling his hips.

"Killian?"

He hums in response, teeth nipping at her flesh. She arches slightly and his arm slips beneath her, holding her up and away from the mattress. She lifts her hips and his fingers slide over the button of her jeans, deftly flipping it open and inching the material down her legs. She kicks her legs and then his hand is _there_, applying delicious pressure and thumbing back and forth, just right.

She pants and writhes beneath him, gripping his forearm.

"Killian?"

He blinks down at her, fingers rubbing at her through the cotton of her underwear. His tongue peeks out, running back and forth against his bottom lip in time with the gentle stroke of his fingers and she groans softly.

"Clothes. Off." She pants and he chuckles, leaning forward to press his lips against hers.

"As you wish." He mutters and she huffs a breathless laugh against him. He pulls back, uncertain, and his blue eyes dance with confusion as he pulls at the hem of his shirt.

"What's so amusing?" He tosses his shirt to some far-off corner of the room as his hand grabs at her ankle. His fingers squeeze gently and then he's running his broad palm up her calf and over her knee.

She smirks up at him. "Nothing. You just – " She cuts off abruptly as his hand slides up the inside of her thigh, metal rings cool against her heated skin.

"I just what, love?" His fingers dance along the edge of her panties and she shifts, urging them higher. He refuses, instead tracing lightly over her to the hem of her shirt where he tugs. She pulls her shirt over her head and watches as raw hunger dances over his features before she flops back on the bed, blonde hair wild around her.

"You always say that." She supplies and his eyebrows knit in confusion. He stills above her and she let's out a frustrated groan, hands impatient as they grab at his belt.

"Say what?"

"As you wish." She mocks in a horrific impersonation of his accent as she slips his belt open. His hips stutter against hers and he groans lightly, a rough rumble in his chest, as she pushes his pants down.

"Shall I say something different, then?"

He shoves his pants off the rest of the way and then he's rearing above her, strong and naked, and _holy shit_, apparently angry. His eyes are dark and clouded and his hand pulls at her bra straps, yanking the offending material down hard – not bothering to take it off, instead letting it hug her torso.

"How about I tell you that I've thought about this all day."

He leans down quickly and takes one pert nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue against it in a broad stroke. He bites down, teeth rolling against her and she squeaks, hands flying to grip his hair against the onslaught.

"Or shall I tell you instead, how I spent my morning thinking of the desperate sounds you make." He moves to the other breast, beard rough against the sensitive skin of her chest. She gasps and arches as his free hand moves to cup her hotly between her legs and his mouth widens against her chest, sucking her breast eagerly.

"Shall I tell you how I've thought of how wet you get?" His fingers slide under the edge of her panties and they groan in unison when he finds her slick flesh.

His dark eyes bore into hers. "That I want to bend you over every bloody surface in this town, and fuck you until you beg me for more."

He presses down hard against her clit as he circles her roughly, fingers slipping against her. When his hand slips further, two fingers pushing up and into her, she bites out a cry. He chuckles above her, fingers pumping in and out quickly.

"I was trying to be a gentleman, love." He dips his head down and bites the junction between shoulder and neck. "But I think I'll settle for making you come."

And as he slides down her body, nipping and sucking at her skin, fingers moving a rough and desperate rhythm against her – she idly thinks she should point out his irritating (_lovely, wonderful, perfect_) habits more often.


	13. Chapter 13

**CS anon prompt: the Wicked Witch tries to keep Emma and Hook separated because she knows that their TLK has the abilty to take away her magic and defeat her.**

She had felt too much as her lips had tentatively pressed against his in the cold wind of the New York winter – his shaky exhale as she pressed against him, the way his lips parted beneath her, holding so still he shook with the effort of it. The only movement he made was the careful tangling of his fingers with hers, squeezing tight either to assure or restrain himself, she hadn't been sure. But it was all so terrifyingly sudden, the way the memories came back to her. She woke with a gasp, eyes flying open against his. He had only tightened his grip on her - lips finally, _finally_, responding to her timid touch. He kissed her back as her memories returned and she exhaled a broken sob against his lips, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her close. And she had been so overwhelmed, but so _warm, _because he _found _her, he _came back_ for her –

She lunges at the Witch but is thrown back immediately, landing hard on her back. Regina manages to shoot an exasperated sigh her way while maintaining a barrage of fireballs on the Wicked Witch.

"Not going to work. You need to trust me on this." She twists her hand and the Witch shrieks as a particularly large fireball bowls her over. The force field that separated their group as soon as they set foot in the clearing ripples around them and Regina smirks. She pushes her free hand out, shoving Snow hard in the direction of Charming.

"Go!"

Mary Margaret doesn't hesitate, slinging her bow over her shoulder and running full sprint at David. David looks surprised, but catches her easily and their lips fall together with practiced ease. The Witch lets out a blood-curdling screech and Emma arches an eyebrow from her position on the ground.

Interesting.

Regina fires off another large fireball and then she is turning and stalking towards Robin. She looks angry, the hard fall of her feet more petulant than her usual graceful measure. Emma slides to her knees and watches as Robin covers her open back without question, firing a maelstrom of arrows at the Witch and her monkeys. His eyes dart quickly between Regina and his targets, confusion knitting his brow.

"What are you-"

She doesn't give him a chance to respond, instead fisting her hand in the material of his shirt and pulling him roughly against her. He startles and then sags, bow dropped to the ground forgotten.

The Wicked Witch falls to her knees.

Emma sighs.

Her eyes land on Hook and he's (of course) staring right at her, blue eyes vibrant even across an open field. She pulls herself to her feet and makes her way towards him just as he begins to move towards her, tit for tat. A monkey lunges at him and he doesn't even look, just grounds it mid-air with a strong stroke of his sword, eyes fixed on her. He smirks as she reaches for him, hand releasing his sword to the ground.

"What an interesting develop-"

She cuts him off mid-sarcastic comment, lips latching to his. Another ear-splitting shriek pierces the air and she jumps, Hook's hand landing on her hip to steady her. His fingers flex as a transcendent silence descends over the clearing and her heart beats hard in her chest.

She's kissing Hook. Again.

He tilts his head and slides his tongue along her bottom lip, grin teasing the corner of his lips, and she acquiesces because _God_, can he kiss. She sighs a bit into his mouth and lets her hand slide from the side of his face to his collarbone (so much bare skin it's actually indecent and definitely distracting). He devours her mouth like a starved man and she pushes up on her toes, wrapping her free arm around his neck and dragging him closer.

There's a warmth humming through her veins, pushing and pulling her, and this – this all-consuming electricity – is exactly what she had been afraid of.

His nose nudges hers and she blinks her eyes open.

"One of these days, Swan, you're going to kiss me because you want to – not because circumstances demand it."

He's smiling, but his eyes are so very sad and his fingers clench and unclench in a nervous rhythm against the small of her back – the overly confident pirate hidden behind the bashful man. She lets her eyes dance over the lines of his face, embraces the calm that settled over her the second her lips came crashing against his, and meets his gaze.

She arches one delicate eyebrow. "Who says I didn't want to?"

She pulls him forward by the ridiculous chain that hangs around his neck and their lips fall together easily. The groan that lodges in the back of his throat as she sucks on his bottom lip is downright poetic, and when his fingers card through her blonde curls to gently cup the back of her head, she idly wonders why she was so hell bent on _not _kissing him.

An uncomfortable cough sounds behind her as she realizes – _ah yes, parents_ – and then Hook is pulling away from her, eyes darting over her head with a very self-satisfied smirk. She flicks him in the chin and his laugh rings in her ears.

(She pretends not to notice the way Robin has Regina pressed up against a tree, still making out furiously, because, really – she didn't need to see that.)


	14. Chapter 14

"And this one?"

Her fingers trace the white line beneath his third rib and he shifts, peering down at the mark.

"Bar fight – had a minor disagreement with some cad named Blackbeard."

She arches an eyebrow and meets his gaze. "You're kidding."

He just frowns in response and she sighs, hand smoothing over the planes of his chest to his shoulder. His body is littered with scars – 300 years of life mapped out in broken and jagged marks. She can tell which memories cut deeper by the way his eyes shutter and his lips twitch – can tell which thoughts haunt him by the way his fingers curl around her hip, rings digging in painfully as if to remind himself of her existence.

Of her choice.

She follows with her lips and his hand tangles in her curls, warm breath caressing her skin in a heavy exhale.

Her lips dip in to the hollow of his throat and she grins when his hand tightens against her scalp.

"What about this one?"

She nudges the bruised flesh of his throat with her nose and he growls, rolling them smoothly so that she is pinned beneath him. His grin is full and free and her hand thumbs at the corner of his lips, memorizing the feel of his happiness. His lips are soft when he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her palm, blue eyes full of promise and joy and hope.

"A siren lured me to her bed." He mutters, voice rough and delicious. He ducks his head, teeth closing over the junction between her shoulder and neck.

And as she sighs and arches, she hopes his mark lingers – fading into her skin and burning her as _his_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Emma discovers the swan tattoo Killian has on his wrist.**

"We all bear painful reminders of our past, darling." His hand gently grasps her wrist, thumb lightly tapping the shoelace there. She never told him the story, and apparently didn't need to. "Much like you, I like to keep mine where I can see them."

She averts her gaze back to his scarred wrist, her thumb running a gentle circuit, back and forth over the raised flesh. "I was a painful part?"

He shrugs and she sees a years worth of pain flash behind those big blue eyes.

"Losing you was."


	16. Chapter 16

**I prompted my tumblr followers to give me one sentence, and I would write a smutty drabble in response. Herein lies all of the smut. Rated M, obviously. If you don't like the dirty - this chapter isn't for you. Prompts are in bold, responses right underneath. **

* * *

**one sentence smut prompt: "it's always nice to make an impression". have fun ;D**

He thrusts into her and she gasps, feet scrabbling against his hips for purchase. She _burns_, flames of pleasure licking at her from the inside out – consuming her – pulling her under and claiming her as his own.

Hook looks just as destroyed as her, body tight as he holds himself back, muscles bunching and coiling in his strong chest. His hand flexes on her hip bone as she writhes against him, _desperate _for him to move, and then his fingers are sliding, caressing her navel and he's there, thumbing against her as he pulls out and slams back in.

His eyebrows furrow, mouth opening on a breathless moan. She sobs out a broken sound and arches, further, _further_, body almost bending in two. His fingers leave her and slide against her back, bringing her up and into him, breasts brushing against his chest. He pulls her knee over his elbow and fucks into her roughly, skin slapping against skin in the quiet of the cabin.

"God." She pants. "You feel so good." Her fingers twist into his hair as she holds on for dear life. He nips at her bottom lip, mouth sliding messy and hot against hers.

"It's always nice to make an impression." He grinds out and she can't even formulate a snarky reply because he's pulling out of her and flipping her over, pushing down between her shoulder blades hard. She falls against his desk with a grunt that quickly turns into a wanton moan as he slides back into her. He sets a brutally fast pace and her hands clench on the edges of the desk.

"Good." She replies and she wants to roll her eyes at the stupid retort but he circles her hips and everything goes deliciously blank.

**-/-**

**CS: "You really think we can fit in there?**

He's got her pinned up against the hood of the bug, body heavy on top of hers, hips circling with firm insistence. She pants as his lips close over the junction between her neck and shoulder, sucking roughly and probably leaving a mark. But she can't find it in herself to care as she locks her legs around his waist, using the leverage to grind back on him.

"You knew what you were doing, you bloody minx."

She grins, combing her fingers through his hair and pulling his head back, blue eyes dark as he gazes down at her. She traces his jaw lightly, letting her gaze drop pointedly to his lips.

"I just happen to enjoy ice cream." She pouts innocently and he growls, thrusting his hips forward and rutting against her. They probably shouldn't be doing this on the hood of her car in a very open, very public parking lot – but his hand slips up her shirt and she forgets everything else.

He noses at the hollow of her throat. "And those sinful noises you were making?"

"I just, uh – " Her head drops back to the cool metal of the bug as his fingers remove themselves from her shirt and slide up her thigh. His entire body freezes when he finds the lacey band of her stockings, hand clenching down hard.

"Get in the car." He growls against her throat.

Her mind is hazy as she tries to process his words. "What? Killian –"

His fingers trace up the line of the garter belt to her panties, thumbing at the waistband. "Emma. I swear on all that is precious and sacred in this realm – I will take you on the hood of this contraption. So I suggest you get. In. The. Car."

He pulls up and off of her, her back sliding down against the hood. She blinks up at him, chest heaving.

"You really think we can fit in there?"

His smile is tense, lips barely tilting up as he ushers her off the hood of the car. His fingers shake as he slips back under her skirt, finding her core and slipping his fingers in easily. She moans, faltering, falling flat against the driver's side door.

His voice is a rough growl against her ear. "Where there's a will - there's a way, darling." He nips at her, tongue warm against her skin. "And I know very well how _flexible_ you can be."

**-/-**

**Emma likes to talk dirty**

"But Captain," She crawls up the bed slowly, blonde hair framing her face, curls wild over her shoulders. He clenches his fist as her lips skim his bare abdomen, tongue peeking out for the briefest of moments.

She's trying to bloody kill him.

He sighs and rolls his head back as she hovers over him, silk nightie stretched deliciously tight over her breasts, nipples straining against the flimsy material. Her teeth nip at his ear and he really shouldn't be so affected by her, _gods above_, but he shudders, groan caught in his throat.

"I've been a bad girl." She whispers on a laugh and his hook buries itself in her mattress with a loud tear. She arches an eyebrow pointedly at him and he just smirks.

"Then perhaps I should punish you, darling."

**-/-**

**''That doesn't work on me''**

He shifts above her, ducking down suddenly and nipping at her collarbone. She sighs and arches slightly, hands clenching in the sheets by her sides. She _knew_ he would be good at this, certainly thought about it enough, but _experiencing_ it – god, its a whole different ballgame.

His lips trail between her breasts as he licks down her navel and _oh god_ - no. Her fingers fist in his hair and she angles his head up abruptly.

He looks _devastated_ – lips swollen, eyes unfocused, hair sticking up here and there in odd clumps. He licks his lips and moans softly as she tugs again and _damn it_, her stomach clenches and rolls at the primal sound.

"No." She mutters as she desperately tries to bring him back up her body, but his shoulders are locked between her thighs and his lips are busy paying attention to her hip bones. He runs his hand down her leg and pulls, spreading her wide. Her face flames as she struggles against him.

"Hook, no." He finally pauses, bearded chin resting lightly beneath her belly button, adorable furrow between his eyebrows. He really has no right looking _adorable_, all things considered.

"What?" His voice rumbles low against her and she pulls her legs closed, regardless of the fact that he's still between them. He paws at her with his hand but she locks her ankles and he sighs against her.

"Emma." He whines and she shakes her head back and forth.

"No."

"But – "

"No." Her heart is beating an uneasy staccato against her chest and she just doesn't –

She can't –

"I've told you - " She hates that her voice is a broken whisper in the stillness of the room. "That doesn't work on me."

He runs his hand soothingly along the outside of her thigh and she can see his brain working overtime, his eyes studying her to try and figure this one out. She blinks and averts her gaze, sighing heavily and staring at the ceiling.

Well that's one way to kill the mood.

"You don't trust me." He states and her eyes snap back to his. He gives her a small smile, but it's sad, and she feels something pinch in her chest.

"Of course I trust you." She whispers and it's the truth – she does trust him, with everything. She just doesn't enjoy this – never has.

But he refuses to budge from his position against her and she bites her lip. "I just don't like this."

He grins and places a gentle kiss against her hipbone. "Perhaps you will like it when I do."

His usual cockiness laces the words but she hears something else there – a tiny lilt of self-doubt, the sweeping insecurity he tries so hard to hide from everything and everyone.

"Please, Emma." He nips gently at the skin of her navel. "Let me do this for you."

She stares down at him, worrying her lip between her teeth before she makes her decision. She releases the vice grip she has on him fractionally, and exhales a shaky sigh.

"Okay." She mutters and his grin is blinding. She rolls her eyes and flops on the flat of her back, clenching her eyes shut tight.

He chuckles against the inside of her thigh. "Relax, darling." His breath is a warm exhale against her and she shifts slightly. "I'll make this good for you."

He touches her lightly with his tongue, a tentative sweep against her sensitive flesh. She jumps and he chuckles again, the vibrations doing _dangerous_ things to her.

"Relax, love." He whispers and then he attacks.

She yelps as his lips closes over her little bundle of nerves, sucking her into his mouth and flicking his tongue back and forth. She arches her back and he releases her, mouth open wide, kissing her sloppily.

His fingers find her folds and spread her open while his tongue runs a rough, broad sweep against her, ending on her clit and sucking roughly. He pumps two fingers into her, the cold metal of his rings a delicious contrast to the heat of his mouth and she can feel it start, the tension in her belly.

She moans and writhes, fingers gripping his hair and pulling him tight against her. He groans when she pulls on his hair, and she pants in response. His mouth slants over her, tongue doing absolutely _wicked_ things and god – she _hates_ when he's right.

She comes ridiculously quick, his name ground out on a moan. He runs his tongue against her as she comes down from her high and her entire body jumps. He laughs and pulls himself up her body and when his lips find hers, she thrusts her tongue into his mouth, tasting herself on him.

He grins when he pulls back. "Told you so, love."

**-/-**

**"Aye aye captain"**

She can feel his eyes on her as she sways back and forth to the music. She pulls her hair up off her shoulders, exposing the open back of her dress, smiling smugly to herself as she dips down low on the floor.

She's never been much of a dancer – but hell, she's drunk and if it means getting Hook all hot and bothered, well, far be it from her to back down from a challenge.

She lets her hands run over her collarbones, dip down enticingly between her breasts and slide along her hips. She turns and sees him- leaning against the wall by the bar – leather abandoned for dark jeans a black button up (although he is only using _half_ of the buttons, _of course_). His eyes are locked on her, tracking the ebb and flow of her movements like a lion hunting its prey.

His eyes flicker up and meet hers and she swears she feels a jolt run through her body. His smile is wicked as he strolls casually towards her, sliding through the mass of bodies with ease.

His fingers clasp her hip and he pulls her tight against him, guiding the movement of her hips. She pushes back against him and grins, chuckling when he breathes out a groan against her neck.

She slides against him, grinding against his erection. His fingers pull up, bunching in the fabric of her dress.

"If you're not naked and finger fucking yourself for me in the bathroom in the next thirty seconds, I'll be forced to punish you."

His voice is a dark promise, rolling against her skin. She turns in his arms and nips at his ear.

"Aye aye, Captain."

-/-

**Hook loves fucking a very pregnant Emma**

"Emma, please."

His hand grabs at her waist and he dives headfirst into her chest, sighing happily from between her breasts. A frown twists her face and she attempts to push him away, but he's insistent, mouthing at her through the cotton of her shirt.

"Killian, no. I look like a beached whale." She sighs a bit when he tugs down on her shirt, exposing the top half of her breast. He nips at her and she jumps, squirming in his lip, her very pregnant belly keeping them apart.

"I'd very much like it if you didn't talk about my wife as such." He admonishes as he pulls down harder on the top of her shirt. He grins like a kid in a candy store when her breast pops free and he circles her nipple lightly with his tongue. Her fingers find their way into his hair and she pulls him towards her.

"Okay, maybe a little bit."

He pulls his mouth away from her with a wet pop, arching an eyebrow and tracing along her collarbone. "A little bit?"

She nods as he pulls down the other side of her tank top, breasts completely bared to him. He sucks her roughly into his mouth and she moans.

"Yeah, like hands stuff. I'm not taking my clothes off."

"Emma." His voice is serious as he thrusts his hips upwards, her knees tightening against his hips. "I'm going to take you to the bedroom." He bites at her neck. "I'm going to strip you bare." His hand glides down her back and pushes her tight against him. "And I'm going to drag the bloody mirror to the edge of the bed so you can see how fucking beautiful you are when you come – pregnant with my child and shaking with pleasure. Is that agreeable to you?"

His eyes are dark, pupils wide and black as he stares up at her. She shifts in his lap and bites her lip, warmth pooling between her thighs and body absolutely aching with need.

"Uh," He smirks up at her as his thumb dips below the elastic (_jesus, elastic is not sexy_) of her waistband. "I guess that's agreeable."

**-/-**

**"It's certainly out of my control."**

"Killian." She seethes and he smirks at her, eyebrow twisting up in spite of himself. His fingers flex against her skull and she rolls her eyes a bit, having a hard time being authoritative in a position like this.

"Emma." He replies and his voice is breathy and worn and her thighs clench. _God damn pirate._

"You need to be quieter." She hisses and as if to accentuate her point, there's a loud thud outside the door. They both freeze, Killian's eyes comically wide.

"It's certainly out of my control, love." He whisper yells back and the sounds from Granny's diner thrum merrily through the thick, wooden bathroom door – everything seemingly normal.

"Well try harder." She replies and shifts on her knees, licking a firm stripe up the base of his cock. She peers up at him when he doesn't make a sound to see him biting his lip hard, jaw clenched and tense. She tongues his tip, his body trembling beneath her ministrations and she grins.

"Good boy."

**-/-**

**"Where do you think you're going?"**

She rolls over quietly, sheets tucked tight under her arms as she sits up in the bed. Her body is sore in all the best ways, the pirate sleeping soundly on his stomach next to her fully responsible. She smiles softly as she peers down at him, his hair wild on top of his head, thick black strands sticking up, seemingly with a mind of their own. His strong arms are spread wide, his back bare and deliciously tempting, sheets pooled low around his waist, the two dimples at the base of his spine beckoning to her. She lets her fingers slide down his spine, traces a thick white scar in the middle of his back, and he shifts, a soft groan slipping from his lips.

One blue eye peeks open and then a heavily ringed hand is twisting through her curls, guiding her head back to the bed and to his quirking grin. He nibbles at her bottom lip gently and his smile is contagious as it spreads against the underside of her jaw.

"And where do you think you're going?"

**-/-**

**hook sees emma doing yoga and is VERY into it**

She's wearing the pants.

His eyes narrow as he takes her in, legs stretched out impossibly long on either side of her body – those talented, _talented _legs- capable of so many _delicious_ things – like the way they hug him tight to her body as he thrusts into her - the way they tremble when he slides them over his shoulders and dives into her, fucking her with his tongue - the way they bend and twist and _seduce _him, anchoring him down to the bed as she rides him, blonde hair wild as she throws her head back.

She bends forward with a soft mewl of a moan and his fingers clench by his side.

_She's wearing the pants. _

Yoga pants, she calls them, whatever the bloody hell _that_ means. Sinfully tight, they hug her curves like a second skin. And when she bends over - _gods above_ - no one but him should be privy to that little show. He shifts on his feet as she folds in half, hands gripping her ankles. She smirks at him from between her legs.

"Care to share with the class, Captain?"

He takes two steps forward and slides his fingers into the waistband of those pants, her skin warm and pulsating. He grins and pulls her hips flush with his, hand working the pants (_sodding siren song, more likely_) down around her knees.

"I think I'd rather like to _show_ you, darling."

-/-

**Show me what you like, love.**

The room is shrouded in darkness as he moves above her, sheets pooled low around his waist. Her hands slide down the raised and rough skin of his back, fingering the many scars that cover his skin as he noses at the skin of her throat. He's moving slow and languid, sensual and smooth, and she just wants to fist her hands in his hair and _fuck him already_ – but he places a gentle kiss on the swell of her breast and she sighs, fingers instead combing through his wild hair.

His good hand comes up and he threads his fingers through hers, bringing their joined hands down, down, _down_ until they're touching her where she _needs_ to be touched and they moan together- his voice guttural and low in the darkness.

"Show me what you like, love." His voice is pure sin as he leans up above her, giving her room to work, blue eyes intent on their joined fingers. And she can't deny him anything, not when he has her like _this_, so she moans and circles his fingers gently against her, growing impossibly wetter at the sensation of his rough, ship-hardened fingers working her.

He thumbs at her clit and she bucks. He chuckles above her, dark and feral, and his grin is wide in the dark.

"Show me more, darling." He bends down and sucks her nipple roughly into his mouth. "I want everything."

**-/-**

**Hook catches Emma watching Game of Thrones or other smutty HBO show.**

She shifts slightly as she watches the characters on the screen pant and moan, scratching at the back of her neck. She had been flicking through the channels and landed on _this_ and while she truly did enjoy the show for the plot (yes, the plot), she certainly didn't mind the gratuitous sex scenes.

"Emma – " She fumbles for the remote because, _of course_ he would come back to the loft during her _one single moment_ of quiet time, and she _would be_ watching porn thinly veiled as a television show about fighting kingdoms.

All she manages to do is turn the volume up and the moans pick up in frequency just as he turns the corner. She blinks up at him with wide eyes and rapidly reddening cheeks and whatever he was going to say dies on his lips because his eyes are fixed on the TV and _Jesus Christ_, she wants to die.

He stares at the screen for a beat and then his eyes flicker back to her, smile smug as he casually walks over and sits next to her on the couch. She crosses her arms and tries to regard the moaning, writhing bodies on the television without vested interest, even as his fingers dance along her thigh.

"See something interesting, love?" His nose nudges at the skin beneath her ear as his fingers dance higher. She sighs and leans back, legs parting slightly.

"See something you want to try?" She tilts her head back as his breath warms her skin, beard scratching deliciously at her pulse point. He nips lightly at her collarbone and then quick fingers are nimbly undoing the button of her jeans. They sigh in unison when his fingers find slick flesh and okay, maybe it was a good thing that he came home early because he twists his hand and _Jesus – _

He growls against her throat as he fingers her roughly.

"I must say love," She pants and grabs at his forearm. "I do love this realms' entertainment."

-/-

**How about two words: hot tub?**

He stretches out languorously, arms bracing his body on the side of the tub, forearms flexing with the movement. Her eyes dance over the strong line of his jaw as he groans quietly, eyes slipping closed, head tilting back as he slips further into the steaming water.

"Gods, Swan. This is the best idea you've ever had."

Her gaze lingers on the bead of water working down his collarbone. She's inclined to agree.

She smirks and sits halfway up out of the water, leaning forward to press a button on the control panel. His entire body jolts when the jets come to life beneath them, head snapping up, blue eyes wide in surprise.

She laughs and shrugs, sinking back down in her seat. "They're supposed to massage your tense points."

He stares at her blankly for a moment, and then a wicked grin is turning the corners of his lips. He sits forward in his seat, his dancing blue eyes the only warning she gets before strong fingers are wrapping around her hip and pulling her bodily across the tub.

She yelps as he wraps both arms around her waist, his chest strong and solid against her back. His mouth nips at her shoulder. "Tense points, hm?"

She lets out a breathless pant as he flips them, her hands coming out to brace herself on the edge of the tub. His fingers dance down her spine and then he's spreading her legs and pressing her hips flush against the wall of the hot tub, a jet in a _very_ interesting position. She moans and writhes and he chuckles low in her ear.

"Let's relieve some of that tension, shall we love?"


End file.
